Konahrik
by Reg do Kun
Summary: Chosen by the World Eater himself, a young girl is branded as the head of his council. Loyal to her dragon overlord, she must learn to survive the Priests she governs and the one she can never have. ((Miraak/OC pairing but its basically just background noise. This isn't centered around romance))
1. Chapter 1

_**Note: **some facts may be twisted but they are so for a more grand purpose._

_**Setting: **starting this sometime around when Bromunjaar is close to finished being built. The most noted Dragon Priests are just gaining the height of their power towers.  
_

**_Updates:_**_ On Fridays when finished, meaning updates will be oddly spaced._

* * *

**_The wolves will chase you by the pale moonlight,_**

**_Drunk and driven by a devilish hunger._**

**_\- Bottom Of the River_**

* * *

A throne of antlers, she sits, watching her court squabble amongst themselves. She yawns, fingers stretching languidly over her lips as she crosses her right leg over her left; her armor clinks loudly as she does so but no one seems to notice, too caught up in themselves. Hours now this had been going on and yet all she could think of was getting some fresh air, perhaps one of those crème treats Hulga had been working on. . .

"_Petty_," she murmurs, snatching a goblet from a platter to her left.

The servant holding aforementioned platter flinches as she does so and that causes her to cackle madly. Her court now silenced, they watch as she chortles away, spilling red liquid onto the stone in front of her throne; red droplets catch around her knees. When she notices the silence in the grand hall, a fixed glare clears the room, much to her further amusement and their dismay.

A sigh leaves her lips and she places the goblet back on the platter, standing from her throne. She grabs her sword from where it is leant against the side of her seat, the chilled blade exposed to the braziers scattered around the room, sending specks of blue against the walls.

Stalhrim, as hard as a dragons hide and colder than death.

She cradles the blade in her hands for a moment, peering down at it almost lovingly. A joyous cacophony of noises fills her ears: her mothers laughter, a child's praise, the snap of a bowstring from the moment she was first taught to wield such a weapon. . .by the very same man that brought her this far.

She stops her thoughts, clenching the hilt of her sword tightly before storming from her throne room.

* * *

_"And so he brought the War Lord down on Skyrim, like a puppet master with a favored doll. And she did his will, bringing a mighty hammer to the world in the name of her king and the World Eater, Alduin._

_Lorolei of Village Skaal. Konahrik."_


	2. Chapter 2

_***scenes in italics are from the past.**_

* * *

How amazing it felt, to walk with one's head held so high. Sure, she had never been the most mild-mannered girl, but this kind of power was never granted to her.

Well, until now obviously.

Chin held high, she pushed open the doors to the Thoroughfare, skipping up the steps with her sword bouncing against her hip. As she passed, metal gates closed behind her, a precaution with the recent raid that made it into the sanctum. Thus proving that sometimes the impossible is. . .possible. But, she would easily put a stop to such things, even if she had to stand outside of the crumbled entrance herself. They believed they could just sneak into her palace and cause such destruction and chaos?

Entering upon a large room that echoed back the crackle of the fires in their braziers, the young Priestess paused, watching in sorrow as slave workers hoisted new coffins onto wooden prongs hammered into the stone wall. She looked to her right, seeing a gathering of twenty-three crudely cut grave markers and sighed, rubbing her forehead; they were losing more and more people everyday.

"Konahrik," a rumbling voice echoed in her ear. "Stressed again?"

She looked over her shoulder to her court advisor, Marcus. He was dressed in his ceremonial blue robes, the hems lined in a soft fabric soaked with red wine. She smiled and followed beside him past the graves; he gave not one look while she let her fingernails scrape over the graves. Marcus had become one of few she truly trusted in her own palace, her own city and Council. He had been with her from the beginning, assisting her in being fluent in politics and how to handle herself. . .

"Yes," she stepped out of the way of a frantic steward, chuckling as the young Nord tripped over the edge of her gown. "If we don't get this virus in check soon, I fear we will have to call off the banquet."

"You worry about beasts that only see you in your bed."

The woman cackled. "A-As if I would crawl between their sheets!"

Marcus smiled. "I do not believe you would do so myself, but they see your place either there or in their kitchens. They see you nothing more than a naive young woman in over her head."

She - now named Konahrik - huffed, pausing while four slave workers grabbed the handles of a large, carved door and heaves the two panels open. "I do not care about their opinions and notions," she sighed. "I was chosen by Alduin himself, I am better than all of them."

She pauses in honest marvel as they pass the threshold of the Grand Hall, the magnificence of this place never ceasing to amaze her. The ceiling is too high to see, two thick cliffs of stone leading a jagged crag above their heads. Pillars dig into the stone, carved from its very body. Down the center of the room, a pale moonstone table stretches the length of the room. Heaped on it's top are fat bowls of fruits and cooked vegetables, platters of exotic meat ranging from venison of the great stags of the Northen Rift to the humble tenders of Silt Striders.

The room smells heavenly and there are many faces lining the tables, laughing and chatting over their meals, some people mingling in the corners of the room, full goblets in their hands. Konahrik shakes her head and motions for Marcus to follow her through the throng of people, her heart racing as she steps through to the entrance hall. Rahgot stands off to the side, hissing at a flustered servant while he cradles his mask in his hand. When he sees Konahrik, he glares, forcing his mask back onto his face, secured with his gold-laden headress.

That little moment only increases her maddening joy. The power to anger a high ranking Dragon Priest, it makes her blush.

When she steps out into the snow, her heart flutters and she looks like a proud parent surveying the ever-growing city she governs. Then, she remembers Marcus and peers down at him. She's a good head taller than him, something she is increasingly proud of despite the fact that he is a Breton and she a full blooded Nord woman - its only natural, the height difference.

"Marcus," he hums and slowly closes the scroll he had opened while she day dreamed. "Why did you come to me? I know it was not for idle chat."

He stares at her for a minute then stuffs his scroll into his satchel. "Yes, that," he coughed into the side of his hand, now hesitant. "Lord Paarthunax wished to speak to you. . ."

Konahrik froze, staring at him for so long, he was afraid he broke her. But, she finally looked away, fingers flexing at her sides. The wind picked up her hair, sending the golden strands into a flurry; it glowed when the sun briefly broke through the swirling clouds overhead.

"I've been waiting for this. . ."

Was it too late to admit she was afraid of her Lord Alduin's brother? Probably so. . .

* * *

_Pulling the cowl and mask from her face, Lorolei is mildly surprised to see the cart and horses scattered outside her small, developing village. She shakes her hair free and narrows her eyes slightly, grip on her spear tightening as she approaches the village; the horses snort and shuffle as she passes, but she pays this behavior no mind. Horses have never really liked her and the feeling was mutual._

_Several of her kin are gathered around the entrance of the Hall, murmurs causing a light buzz to fill the air. The workers still hammering at the building glare at those gathered in agitation; she only held sympathy, the villagers were in their way. The whispers die as she approaches, shrugging off the load of fish she had been catching into the arms of a familiar face; the crowd slowly disperses as she closes the door behind her._

_In the center of the room is a large, __**U**__ shaped table flanked with the faces of the local healer, blacksmith, shaman and an advisor from some larger settlement up North. Her mother and father are seated behind the curve, shoulders tense as they eye the man with his back to them. He leans back on the desk, watching the maid pull her coat from her shoulders; she grows increasingly uncomfortable as he eyes the light Stalhrim armor she wears. It was her mothers before she lost her leg, before she was confined to being merely an elder. Lorolei wore it proudly in her mothers name, she wanted nothing more than to curl up in it now._

_He is unfamiliar, in face. But the power simply pulsing off of him is enough to confirm her suspicions._

_**Miraak**__._

_His lips twitch as she bows slightly. "Father," she begins as she straightens her back. "What is this?"_

_Miraak raises a hand and twirls it, successfully silencing any words her father would speak. When he speaks, his deep voice sounds so bored and Lorolei feels her arms erupt in chills._

_"Our lord, Alduin, has requested your presence at Bromunjaar. His inner council is waiting with much anticipation for our arrival," there is some sort of amusement in Miraak's voice._

_It feels like the air has been snatched from her lungs. Her knees wobble but she doesn't give out, just swallows. "I will gather my things. . ."_

_Before she can turn however, he chuckles lightly. "I am afraid we will have to send for them later. We are already behind schedule."_

_She nods, knowing their is no refusing the order. A Dragon Priest, he has more power and talent in the stitching of his robes than she does in her pinkie toe. An order is given, you obey, no complaining._

_She doesn't get the chance to say goodbye to her parents because a guard in leather armor escorts her from the building. Miraak grabs his mask from where it was laid on the edge of the table and gives her parents a slight bob of the head before following the guard; when the door closes, her mother cries, her father doesn't move. The whole town watches her be escorted to the cart in silence, even the dogs are quiet. The horses snort and patter again but are stopped from their worrying by their handlers gripping their reigns._

_Lorolei tenses as she feels a hand on her hip, mildly amusing Miraak as he steadies her while she climbs into the cart. Once they are both seated, the driver unties the horses from the trees and begins to steer them down the cliff side; Lorolei picks at her fingers while Miraak shuffles rolls of documents from a deer-hide satchel._

_After moments of agonizing silence, she is bumped in the shoulder and looks up, seeing a ring pinched between Miraak's gloved fingers. It is composed of three golden hoops with red gems molded to each separate hoops. She takes it without needing to be told and pulls off her gloves, sliding it onto the ring finger of her right hand._

_"It is the Ring of the Beast. Wear it at all times," Miraak instructed; she glanced down and saw him slide a similar ring on his same finger, only the gems were green. "Each council member has their own, they are made of Blood Magic."_

_Her skin bristles; she licks her lips, flexing her fingers. "This means. . ." she is a part of Alduin, The World Eater's, Council. She licks her lips again and folds her hands in her lap. "I'm not coming home. . .am I?"_

_He is silent for a long moment. "No."_

_She nods softly, looking back down to the ring and flexing it on her finger. Her chest is swelling with a refuses sob but something sparks in her eyes and settles her when there is an unwarranted spark from inside the center gem of the ring._


	3. Chapter 3

_**Decpticon-silverstreak**_: I'm glad you're enjoying the story:) _**Nyanti**_: **1)** Looove that name. **2)** There will certainly be more! **3)** I was genuinely surprised by the lack of interest in the Dragon Cult in this fandom but ya know, good for me:)

**Note:** I am going to include a fan theory that the Dwemer were indeed around when the Dragon Cult was in full bloom, however briefly. Looking for opinions on if I should keep them or not, they won't be a huge part of the story.

* * *

A cacophony of sharp pangs, the shuffle of tired feet and the strike of metal from the blacksmith. The air is filled with the tunes of labor, the pursuit of security. Two short, pudgy, men in robes point up at a worker dangling in front of a large, stone, structure. He uses his feet to work the piping into place, swinging far out as he does so. When he is finished, he loosens his grip and slides down to the dirt, sending a flurry of dust into the air around him.

Almost finished.

The two men in robes nod, almost in unison, then begin to walk towards the large open doors to their joined study. Trying to build a vault was tedious work. Having to survey the productivity, the gentle inserting of spheres into their correct chambers. The Centurion had proved to be most ornery, freezing before it could step into its locks, but all ended well and the last bit of work should be finished by sun down, if they were so lucky. But they had learned a long time ago to never get their hopes up when the work was barely half finished.

The chamber rumbled and the men froze, looking at each other before they tumbled into each other; another loud, pained, roar made the cavern shake again. Guards rushed in, protecting the men. Workers hurried to safety in the open doors of the vault, screaming and barking orders to those out of their reach.

Another quake and scream cut through the air as a large, flailing, mass of scales and wings came ripping through the large opening above their heads. The dragon screamed, trying to catch wind, but it gave one final cry before landed in a heap in the center of the courtyard. The few trees around it tremble, one fell, crashing down on its tail but no noise was uttered. An archway lay collapsed beneath it, a possible worker with it but there was no way to hear a scream with the muffled whimpers and the sound of the dragons talons scraping against fresh soil. Its eyes were closed and its nostrils flared once, twice before it gave a final huff and fell limp.

The cavern was quiet save for the rush of water from the stream and echo of wind through the rocks. The two men in robes pushed aside their guards, who were too stunned to protest their safety, and warily approached the dead dragon.

Frost breath curled between its teeth, its scales fresh and white. It must have been from Dragontooth Crater, but what could have drove it to cross through these mountains? The men ran their stubby fingers along the edges of gouge marks in the dragons neck, brows furrowing. What could have done that? Not even a mammoths tusks could make a mark on their scales, let alone leave these kinds of injuries and they were grave marks.

The men looked up, the one on the right side of the dragons neck spat something in twisted tongues, filling the air with even more dread.

They would have to call in a Priest.

* * *

Bromunjaar was a city alive.

Under the crisp, clear sky, people moved about their daily lives. More men and women, very little children. Children caused distractions, Bromunjaar was not a city of reproduction, it was a grand city of active worship and organized military action. It was where the Dragon Court convened ever three months to plan events, takeovers and generally give review over the governing districts. Business. That was what Bromunjaar was about, but there were also basic needs to see to. Plenty of market stalls that sold the usuals: fruits, vegetables, meat, etc.

The most visited stall was Hibaali's Weapons.

Hibaali was a former priest of Mara, now taken to selling all kinds of weapons, even the occasional Daedric. Konahrik had her Daedric dagger on her at all times, tucked into a holster under her right arm. The weapons were always sharp and definitely menacing. She adored the weapon, even had it enchanted with frost magic; how she adored seeing the withering look of pain on an attackers face when she drove the blade to the hilt, frost working its magic. . .

Konahrik smiled as she passed the row of stalls that flanked her on either side, chin held high and almost arrogant as she set her eyes on her destination. At the far end of the city, to the South, were large steps leading under high, twisted arches that crested over a large, natural gorge in the mountain. As she passed under the guarded wall into Bromunjaar and then under the last two arches, she felt a cold shift in the air.

She paused and then turned on her heel, craning her neck up to the arch she had just crossed under. At its tip, sat Paarthurnax. His lean, ashen, body was curled around the spire, tail wagging slowly as his claws dug into stone. A forked tongue, long and thick, slid between his teeth, raked over a blood maw; had she the courage to look around, she would have seen several bodies crumpled and mangled, both of animals and humans. But she continued with eye contact, her body begging to tremble but she couldn't find it in her to allow such a thing. . .

She blinked, and Paarthurnax snarled, shooting like an ice bolt from his spire. Konahrik dove forward, rolling out of the way and drawing her sword while he coiled his body, tail flicking like his black tongue in front of him. There was a hiss in the air, reminding her of just how much venom her master had inside of him. Her chest heaved with anticipation, feeling foolish for drawing her sword but he had already warned her once of what to do in this type of situation - attack first, ask questions later.

"You are wise not to trust me," he rumbled, staying tightly coiled.

Konahrik let loose a small tremble then swiftly sheathed her blade, bowing as Paarthurnax languidly climbed onto the rocks at her left. She looked up into bright copper eyes, so alike his brother Alduin's, but not nearly as bright. He let out what she assumed was an amused rumble from his chest, scales quivering as he relaxed onto a rock he was warming with an easy fire breath.

"You requested an audience with me," Konahrik spoke slow, she did not wish to upset him.

The dragons chest rumbled. "Yes," his voice, so slow, it made her sleepy. "I wish for you to travel to the Dwemer city of Arkngthamz," when she raised an eyebrow, he grew amused. "Word has been sent that a fallen Dov came crashing through their kingdom. You are to find what caused this young Dov's demise and report back."

"Am I to go alone?"

Paarthurnax hummed. "Miraak will be waiting for you at the city."

Konahrik's brow furrowed. "Miraak?"

"Yes," there was a growl to his throat. "Be gone!"

Konahrik bowed, her chest fluttering as she took the steps two at a time. The vendors watched as she trotted past, not speaking because the guards were sure to punish for gossip.

The doors were pulled open to the stables as she barked orders, grabbing the reigns of a horse with dusty, copper fur. As she slung herself up onto the beasts back, it snorted and whickered, shuffling in nervousness as a stable hand buckled her normal travel pack onto the saddle. The horse reared back when she duck her heels into its side and turned on her command, pulling out of the stable.

As she and the two escorts behind her took to the path down the mountain, Konahrik couldn't help but wonder why she hadn't heard of Miraaks arrival in Skyrim. She was the head of the court for the past seven years, she should have known two days ahead of time. An odd thought struck her as she reared back on the reigns, ripping her sword to hand as an Ice Wraith danced in front her . Could Miraak have snuck into Skyrim? If so, why? But then she thought of the banquet, how he should be arriving anyway, but it still struck her as odd.

"M'Lady," a guard trotted to her side but she was more focused on the Ice Wraith combusting in front of her. "Lord Vokun approaches."

That caught her attention and Konahrik looked up, seeing the flowing robes and the practical squad of horsed assassins trailing behind him. His men wore ebony armor, all glimmering with shock enchantments. The horses were white in color, all obeying their riders perfectly; they did not even sniker when approaching strangers.

Vokun always had to make an entrance.

He stopped his horse in front of her, possibly glaring behind his mask. "Konahrik," his voice hissed.

"Vokun," she purred. "Rahgot beat you this time, you know?"

"Damn Rahgot," he quipped. "Where are you headed off to? Being Paarthurnax's errand girl, again?"

In a flash, he had the tip of her sword a hairs breath from his throat. He raised his chin, feeling the chill of the sword against tender breath. Her usually angelic, sculpted, face was twisted into a snarl that could rival any dragons; he could swear he saw a darkness swirling within her eyes.

"It would be wise to not speak so familiarly about Lord Paarthurnax," she growled.

He paused and then nodded, she sheathed her sword. With an angry flick of the wrist, he scuttled out of her way, looking back briefly to see the dark aura that settled on her shoulders as she galloped in the opposite direction.

* * *

_Lorolei was not an easy person to amaze._

_Solstheim held so many wonders and secrets she had already explored. But Skyrim had managed to turn her into an eight year old again._

_Miraak took her right hand firmly in his, leading her down the wobbly ramp to the moderately safe bricks of the dock. He let her hand go and was approached by a tall female Bosmer that cast a quick, malicious, glance at Lorolei. The Skaal woman hesitated, turning her back to Miraak and the hateful woman. On the other side of the swiftly moving dump-out into the ocean, there was a gathering of people carving their way up the mountainside. Lorolei furrowed her brow but didn't say anything about it._

_No one cared about her words. Not now, at least._

_"Lorolei," that deep, resonating, voice cut through her day-dreaming; she looked back at him, seeing the Bosmer gone. "They have a cart prepared for us. We must go through the city, stay close," he smirked._

_She didn't want to think there was something else going on in his head, but the smirk and bump of his hip she received almost made her smile. Almost. She was still petrified, mostly because of the guards._

_They were intimidating, sure to be made that way. They wore masks that appeared to be made of iron and the holes for there eyes revealed similarly colored bright blue irises surrounded by a dusting of coal. Their armor was heavy-looking, sharp edges and points coming from their shoulders and hips, sharp points on their gauntlets. She had grown up around talented blacksmiths her entire life but could not identify what the armor was made of._

_She didn't even want to acknowledge the large swords on their backs. They were great swords, looked to be ebony - but that only pertained to the handles, with their intricate carvings. The blades were jagged and intimidating, seeming to glow red._

_The city of Windhelm was magnificent, black stone blocks dusted with snow. Lit braziers were scattered around the streets as they wound their way towards the large, gilded front gates. People watched as they passed but none spoke, some children pointed and giggled; Lorolei could have sworn she heard Miraaks name murmured somewhere being them._

_The bridge was slippery with ice and Lorolei blushed when she had to hold onto Miraak as she slipped down the last step to the stables. The guards hissed like protective mothers but Miraak chuckled, nudging her forward. He thought this was funny? _

_Lorolei was seated to Miraak's left as he sat at the head of the covered cart, looking over documents pulled from his satchel. She cringed, thinking again of her slip up at the bridge; she'd never let herself live that down. Lorolei was never one to embarrass herself like that, she usually had superb control over her body, especially on ice. It was odd, but she tried to shake it off._

_"Your nerves are aching," Miraak hummed._

_Lorolei looked up, hesitant. "Why have I been called?"_

_Miraak looked over at her from under his brow. "I don't know," he chirped. He unrolled another scroll, tsking at the words in front of him. "Lord Alduin requested that I escort you back to Bromunjaar since I was already studying the Stones around the island."_

_Lorolei nodded then looked out the front of the cart, seeing the salt flats huffing out steam into the air. She wished she could explore right now, but there was no way she could tempt such a thing. She was being heavily guarded in an escort to Bromunjaar, to an unknown fate and they wouldn't take too kindly to her jumping from the cart to play as her muscles ached too. No, she was being escorted. . ._

_To Alduin, the World Eater._

_She refused to cry, but the tears seemed to prick at her vision and she quickly had to stifle them before anyone noticed. If any of the men - and Miraak - noticed, they didn't show it and she sent them each small thank you's deep in her mind._


	4. Chapter 4

Konahrik was truly _envious_ of the Dwemer and their advancements.

She had never seen another civilization be able to produce such fascinating and amazing works from steam and stone. There were two Dwarven Spheres guarding the front door when Konahrik and her men approached, belching steam and hissing gears. Konahrik and her men tied their horses to the metal posts at the bottom of the stone steps leading to the door. She and her men walked slowly, her hand on her sword, her other hand raised so her men would not copy her own hand. The Spheres would know to attack, they were far from dumb an supposedly powered by soul gems, which begged the implication of immense taboo.

"Your masters were expecting us," she addressed them.

The spheres hissed and turned, rolling towards the doors. Konahrik closed her hand and took her other from her weapon, following the automatons. The large doors opened and the spheres rolled forward, Konahrik following, her men wary; they had every right to be. Her steps were heavy, ringing with power and as they reached the end of the entrance hall, the spheres closed up into their balls, rolling back towards the entrance.

The cavern they walked into was huge, echoing just like her palace under Bromunjaar. Across a large gap, there was a ledge with carved stone, several figures shuffling around their stalls. _A market_. Konahrik turned right, jogging up the steps there, seeing as it was the only way to get across. As they stepped over the small bridge leading to the market stalls, she looked down at the water rushing beneath them through the mountain, saw an open vent where Dwarven spiders were working away to repair something bent and broken, or maybe they were just finishing it.

"You arrived later than expected," a man approached them, a rare male Dwarf without a beard.

"There were complications involving a saber cat and a few Death Hounds," she bowed gently. "Otherwise, we would have been here _earlier_ than originally planned. Now, though I am a guest in your home, I must insist that you take me to my dragon. _Immediately_. I was also informed my priest Miraak was already here."

The dwarf nodded. "Yes, he is already with the dragon now."

Konahrik muttered a curse, brushing past the dwarf and walking towards earth-made bridges. "I swear to the Gods," she hissed, flicking her wrist. Before her lit a stream of teal, directing her towards her destination. "If he did anything with my dragons soul, I am going to gut him and hang him from the gates of the city."

"Preferably not our city, ma'am."

Konahrik snarled and the dwarf nodded once, turning around and heading back towards the stalls. She didn't even spare a glance back to see where he was going; though, she probably should have. She closed her palm and the trail of light dispersed, her traipse across the earth bridges over with and her men still at her back. Konahrik's eyes darted around the darkly lit hole they walked through. It was empty. Odd. She thought the Dwarves tried to use as much space as they had.

"This is genuinely beautiful," she muttered, pausing at an open space.

Light streamed in through an open hole in the ceiling, trees grew into the cliffs around her, their roots dangling in reach, swaying and. . .dare she say _grasping_ for something. She breathed in the scent of pine and rocks, water. She never liked being underground, she liked fresh air and the skies above her. How the Dwemer were able to stand this kind of living space, she could never understand.

They passed under a long, narrow, path with rotting logs and more dangling roots. Tree limbs stretched above their heads, tightly joined with rare openings to let light in. The air was thick and humid, but she hadn't broken out in a sweat yet. She wished she still had her Stalhrim armor, she wouldn't even feel the slightest rise in temperature.

"By the Eight," she whispered, stopping at the head of a slope into a larger cavern.

Trees were scattered around the open space, light coming from a giant hole in the wide, dome shaped, ceiling. There was a large wall of stone with Dwarven faces carved into it, the traditional bronze metal the Dwemers used decorating the wall with tonal locks and barred gates. The light streamed in, hitting the running stream just right to send rainbows in some directions.

She would call it beautiful were it not for the Frost Dragon lying in a crumpled heap in the middle of the room. Her breath caught in her throat and Konahrik ran down the slope, her armor clanging and creaking, her head shaking persistently in denial. _No, no how did this happen?_ She came to a stop near the dragons head, reaching down with trembling fingers to run her hands flat against the dragons gaping maw. The teeth were jagged and there were thick, stringy, pieces of bloody meat stuck between its teeth; three of them were broken, _freshly_ broken. She. . .she had never seen such a young dragon so torn up. . .she had never seen an _older _dragon in this condition.

"Gouge marks in the throat, stomach and one on its back," Miraak stepped from around the dragons back feet, writing something down on a roll of parchment strapped across a wooden board. "Hello Konahrik," he didn't look up.

Konahrik shook her head, stomping towards him with thick steps. He looked up just as she stopped in front of him, a smirk played on his lips but she did not falter like she used to. She narrowed her eyes and let out a sharp growl, reeling her right hand back and landing a slap across the side of his face. His head jerked to the side, a line from her gauntlets on his face.

"You son of a bitch," she spat, pushing him back. "You don't talk to me in months, don't even write and _this_ is how I find out you're in Skyrim? Are you fucking kidding me?"

Miraak didn't look at her right away, just stood there for a long moment, head still to the side. Konahrik huffes and then looked back at her escorts, growling at them and pointing to the Dwarves watching from the top of the slope. They nodded and turned on their heels, approaching them with fast steps. The Dwarves protested mildly but did as instructed, moving out of the chamber.

When she looked back at Miraak, he took a swift step forward and pressed his lips firmly against hers. She squeaked and pushed up to her toes, even when he pulled away, a smug smile on his face. She narrowed her eyes at him, a blush forming on her cheeks; _bastard_. She cleared her throat, bracing her right hand against her back as she placed her left hand against the dragon's belly.

"What uh. . .what do you think happened," obvious subject change, but she needed it.

He chuckled darkly and she heard him shuffle the parchment around; he had tucked it under of his arms. "From the looks of it. . .another dragon. There is nothing but a dragon that could do this much damage to a Frost Dragons scales. There is nothing else that could do this much damage to _any_ dragons scales."

Konahriks brow furrowed. "But. . .why would dragons attack one another, it doesn't make any sense."

"Maybe one went rogue," Miraak offered. "Perhaps a disease? If we had the man power or the permission to retrieve the body from this caverns, I would gladly do that but the Dwarves are not allowing this and we must respect their wishes."

"Plus, they could start a war we aren't prepared for," she muttered then sighed, rubbing her brow. "Fine. . .fine, you can have the soul. I can arrange for some slave workers to retrieve the bones later."

She looked back at him, saw him grin and then she rolled her eyes. He passed off the parchment and wood to her and she took it, taking a few steps back as he approached the dead dragon. Something in his eyes flashed and they glowed in different hues of red, blue and green; it was genuinely beautiful to behold. She looked to the dragon, saw the burning inferno taking over its body and had to turn away completely.

She couldn't see that, couldn't see the dragons she loved being inhaled by a _human_. Couldn't see such a powerful creature brought to this burning, charged mass of bones left with singed sinew and flesh clinging to its former master. She couldn't stand it, but Miraak she had some level of tolerance for. What she didn't believe was that Alduin willingly gave him permission to take the souls of deceased dragons. Usually it were those felled in battle or those too old to continue serving in Alduins army.

A hand touched her shoulder and she looked back, closing her eyes when he cupped the side of her face. He stroked her cheek, smiling weakly, apologetically. "I am sorry," he muttered. "I know how it bothers you, Lorolei."

She shook her head. "No. . .no don't apologize. Go back to being that hardass, snarky bastard I know and. . ." she paused, swallowed. "Let's wrap up this report. I hate to have such inconclusive findings on a young dragon's death. He will not be pleased."

Miraak shook his head and let her go just as two dwarves in violet robes came from an open archway across the opposite side of the chamber. "I will speak with him then."

Konahrik shook her head, ready to protest but she was interrupted by one of the two Dwarves. "M'Lady," he bowed. "War Lord, we must know what the state of this complication is in."

She straightened her back, took in a breath and passed Miraak his board and parchment. "No conclusive findings but we have basics, Miraak has dealt with the bulk of the clean up. We will send slave workers and guards to collect the bones for burial within the next day. No protests, please. I am sorry to have inconvenienced you all with this."

The dwarf shook his head. "No, we are sorry that you have lost one of your own so young. We do hope you sort this out in due time."

Konahrik smiled gently. "Thank you sir, and we hope you prosper as you have so far. Once the bones are collected, we will be out of your hair."

The dwarf smiled, his companion not so cheerful. They each bowed, Miraak too consumed in his paper work to deal with them. When Konahrik drew his attention, he decided to follow her and her men back to Bromunjaar. And she couldn't admit that idea made her insides turn.

* * *

_She is awoken to a large crack and a horses distressed cries._

_She rolls out of her bedroll with a pounding heart, stumbling to her feet and approaching the wide flaps of the tent. Miraak had put her in one to match his, a grandiose tent with lit sconces outside. But now the sconces were tipped and there was churned up dirt around her tent. She hugged her night dress closer to her body, screaming as a horse barreled past her and forces her to tumble into hot ashes and coals from the sconces._

_Men circled the camp, laughing as they pierced the armor of one of the guards; hw fell to the ground, clutching at his bleeding chest. Lorolei's eyes widened in fear as the bandits eyes turned to her, a sick grin coming across one of their faces. She turned and ran in the opposite direction, running into one of the guards; her feet ached with the effort. The guard grunted and clumsily tried to catch her but an arrow caught him in the shoulder and she screamed, pushing him out of the way._

_She skidded to a stop as a large, black horse ran into her path, a bandit on its back. The horse reared back and she ducked under its belly, hurrying towards. . .she didn't really have a destination. She just needed to get out of here but after that, she didn't know. Couldn't think of it. She was scared. There were bandits and blood and bodies everywhere._

_Lorolei was scared._

_"Lorolei!"_

_She was grabbed by the upper arm and pulled against a rough side, which made her thrash. She looked up with panicked eyes to meet Miraak's golden mask. It resembled any other Priests mask but the edges were ringed in small points and there were fierce red lines sprouting from the eye sockets. She watched as he flicked his wrist and a stream of ice shot from his palm, freezing two of the bandits where they stood._

_She could feel his heart beating in his chest._

_He took a hold of her hand and began to run, pulling her towards the tree line. Two rows in, he paused, grabbing her up by the hips and lifting her up. She didn't understand what to do until she noticed the limb above her head. She took a hold of it, using his help to scramble onto it. She clung to the trunk with trembling arms, staring down at him through the tears; her fingers dug with no remorse into the bark, grounding her._

_He pulled his mask from his face, looking at her with glowing eyes. "I promise that I will be back for you, Lorolei."_

_She hesitated but then nodded, her head bob fierce. "I-I trust you to. . ."_

_He nodded once and slid the mask back onto his face, charging back into the massive raid. From where she was sitting, Lorolei could see the practical army of bandits and doubted he would be back for her._


	5. Chapter 5

Konahrik despised the Reach.

It was beautiful, no doubt to that with the high cliffs of marble and the tilting waterfalls; she had never tasted water so pure. She'd climbed to the tops of the ridges, basked in the beauty of the plains hidden above - she'd even commissioned a sanctuary for her resident, and newest, Priest to be built in the Reach.

But, Konahrik expected an ambush every moment, she could always hear the distant echoes of a warriors fallen cry, the subtle crack of a Hargraven bringing a new Briarheart into this world. . .and then there it was, the barely-audible shuffle of claws over stone, the panting breath and the stench of death.

That was why she refused to sleep, keeping watch on a pointed arc overlooking the camp her men had set up. The horses were restless, which proved her suspicions: they were being watched. Her steed snickered and tossed his head every now and again, standing watch at the entrance to the camp, as though he were some sort of hound. She would think of a fine name for this one, he was a keeper unlike the past three horses she had ridden.

Still, Konahrik was left on edge because of her surrounds, though she was a skilled warrior and should not have such feads. She was fast, light on her feet, and her sword arm was strong. The Stalhrim blade sent a mist into the air around her, proving itself a deadly piece of ice. Her eyes swept through the rocks around them, hearing a howl and tensing. Werewolves. . .by the Nine, how she _hated_ those damned things. They had nearly caught her before, their intense loathing of dragons never ending it seemed and she knew of a pack near Bromunjaar that had her face memorized for assaults.

She heard the subtle brush of pebbles over stone behind her but did not tense, did not release from her crouch; she knew those old boots anywhere.

"We should have continued to Bromunjaar," she muttered.

He chuckled in that way of his; it was dark, never ceasing to send that shiver of anticipation up her spine. "You kept those men and horses on the trail for two straight days, let them rest. _Eat_. _Drink_. We will arrive tomorrow afternoon, rest, and you will have your council."

He was right.

She needed to slow down, take a breath, but she hadn't managed in Skyrim this long by relaxing anywhere but her quarters in her city. She breathed in deeply through her nose and stood, looking back at him. Damn those eyes, as golden as a dragons. He was beautiful, to _her_ anyway - dark hair, round face, strong jaw. With the soul of a dragon, Miraak was pleasing in every way to her. Konahrik would never admit that out loud, she would never admit to how much he had managed to sway her, make her feel so young. . .

But he would spend days preaching of her beauty, of how fine her hair was, how the gold made the blue in her eyes shimmer. He was possibly narrating his next speech of her right now, smiling softly just for her. She closed her eyes as he reached out to cup her jaw, his lips pressing tenderly against hers in what she hoped was a display just for her. She could have melted then and there, but her muscles refused to give.

And he felt that.

When he pulled away, their eyes met and she saw the overwhelming frustration in his eyes. It made her smile. He always claimed her to be his, ever since he brought her to Skyrim. But, since becoming the War Lord, she now had _him_ as hers. She knew with his dragon soul, the urge to claim her was powerful. But her fight was just as strong. A game of cat and cat.

"You know," he hummed. "I believe I liked you better as _Lorolei_."

She chuckled, looking away; another howl. "Yeah yeah," she sighed. "They are finishing the shrine."

"_Oooo_," he chirped. "That means. . ."

She grinned up at him, her pleasure reflected in his eyes. "I get my own mask soon. My official coronation is fast approaching."

"And it will be a marvelous celebration," he chuckled.

"Do you think Lord Alduin will attend?"

At that, he frowned; some days, he wondered if she loved that damned dragon more than him. "I am sure he will make the exception for you. You lead his council after all," he assured her.

"Will _you_ attend," she smirked.

"Maybe," he chuckled. "Why don't you get some rest, I can keep watch."

She hesitated. "I. . .I guess. But wake me at sunrise. I want to get home."

As he watched her go - after sharing another chaste kiss and brief embrace - Miraak shook his head in worry, spying glowing amber eyes in the hills. She had denounced Solstheim as her home. That was a cause for intense worry, though also relief as she had been stubborn in his last trip, where he had been trying to convince her where her heart and loyalty lie as well as her head.

"I must work faster," he muttered.

* * *

She waited for permission to enter Alduin's chambers.

Despite her status, she still needed a request to see her master, something she went along with _only _because it was Alduin's orders. She stood patiently in front of the double doors sealed shut, shifting her weight as the three vendors around her conversed from across the gap between them. There were two on her left and one on her right, which she would have to exam later; there was no balance to this, the sides should be equal. The one on her right took orders from the staff in Alduin's chambers, fetching whatever they needed. The two on her left sold two things: weapons and armor. They silenced their gabbing as they heard one of the massive locks screech up, gaining an immense sigh of relief from Konahrik

The doors opened in a dramatic fashion, the light even catching the handle just right. There was a small girl waiting on the other side, wrapped in ceremonial robes of amber and peach; her hair was crimson as blood, braided in two separate ways down the sides of her head. She smiled at Konahrik, both bowing to each other out of mutual respect.

"Lagertha," Konahrik muttered. "Has he accepted my summons?"

Lagertha nodded and began to walk back through the tight, winding tunnel that led to the courtyard. "Yes, he is eager to hear about this odd death," the girl looked back when they heard the double doors slam shut. "How was your trip, malady?"

"Pleasant," Konahrik sighed, pushing back a strand of hair that clung to her lips. "A few bumps but we made good time and did not need to slow down," she looked over at Lagertha. "How is your arm?"

Lagertha smiled. "Thank you for asking. The burns are healing well. I think I will find an apprentice to assist me next time."

Lagertha was the court wizard, sort of. She did not study things, she did not fight unless necessary; she was eager to assist though, as she had proven in the last raid. She was Alduin's council aside from the Priests, never leaving their lords side. Konahrik had known from day one that the girl was Alduin's favorite if he had one; _if_ he was capable of having favorites. She only left his side when he disappeared for whatever reasons seeking Sovngarde. Konahrik adored the girl and - despite her inkling of aversion to magic - was impressed by her abilities. Even Morokei, who was undoubtedly brilliant in the same field, said she was a wonder to behold. And knowing this little woman managed to grate on the nerves of her Priests just made Konahrik even more cheeky about the whole thing.

"Well, I hope all goes well next time."

"Thank you," Lagertha murmured.

Alduin's courtyard was a thing of true beauty, to any who saw.

Exiting the small passage, they were flanked by two large stone stair cases that curved up to the sentry post atop the curved archway leading into the larger portion of the area. Between the staircases was a small garden of nightshade, creep clusters and snowberries. Two vibrant, stunted, Eldergleam saplings grew on either side of the archway, their violet petals littering the ground. The bulk of the courtyard was walled and walkways and stone arches lined aforementioned walls, smaller dragons perched on the arches while human guards manned the walkways.

Scattered around the yard were fat piles of gold peppered with gems, offerings of meat being feasted upon by the rare infant dragon that Konahrik knew by color. Alduin's offspring. They were black as night, their eye color ranging from crimson to gold; their mother was a mystery. There were tables for humans to eat but were rarely used when Alduin was present; all around her frazzled maids and smiths cleaned up after the babies and worked on the carvings in the wall.

Alduin lay curled at the base of his own Wall, the marble glowing with heat from a fire breath he used not long ago. He lifted his head as she approached, Lagertha moving to her place near his Wall. His long talons drag against stone as he lifts himself up, red eyes reflecting her in a heat that made Konahrik feel some sort of special.

"Konahrik," he growls. "_Tinvaak hin findings_."

She bows, hair briefly touching the stone at her feet. "Milord," she does not look him in the eye. "The dragon that fell was indeed a Frost dragon, bled from wounds that appeared to be from one of your own kind. His teeth were broken and dark though he was still young. There. . .there was so much blood," she choked. "Forgive me. . .Miraak has the full written report."

Alduin hummed, tail languidly sliding across stone. "And where is the worm now," his chest rumbled.

Konahrik took in a deep breath. "He paused to inspect the Shrine, milord. If that displeases you I can retrieve him with malice."

The fact that Alduin was speaking so slowly, so little, made Konahrik nervous. He was usually hellfire, hissing in his dragon tongue and violent. He was thinking, when Alduin left silence to think that meant there was a plot; from which side, his or another's, Konahrik never knew.

"_Zu'u lost ahsod fah hi_," he rumbled, leaning low; his nostrils flared and constricted, sending hot air over her. "Observe your Council," she could smell blood and human flesh. "Report to me at any time news you find. . .displeasing," she met his eyes and saw the thick scales twitch, quiver as he purred lowly; she was truly terrified. "And do not trust my brother."

Her veins filled with ice and Alduin straightened back from her, his Th'um shaking the courtyard. And her bones. Paarthurnax? What had he done? Her Priests? What did Alduin suspect? Of course, there was always a reason to be cautious; the Priests were more like unruly children every day.

Konahrik fisted her right hand to her chest, bowing at his approval. "Yes, milord."

* * *

_"Here."_

_Lorolei blinked slowly, looking up from the haphazard fire she had built in a dugout. Miraak stood over her, expression bored as he held out the deer-skin flask, a promise of water. His right cheek was split gruesomely so that told her he used the last healing potion. . .and it hadn't been very strong. Lorolei did not know any healing spells, but thought of how her mother could help with her extensive restoration knowledge._

_"Thank you," she mumbled, taking the offering._

_They were all that was left of their caravan. The bandit party had been large, too much to handle despite the dozens of bodies littering the ground when Miraak came for her, flames at his back. He had been covered in blood and still bled more, helping her from the tree she was in. He saved her and left the rest to their fate. She found it cruel as a leader but she was thankful; if he hadn't done what he did, she would be bandit chow._

_"Where did they all come from," she whispered, passing the flask to him._

_He shrugged and took a slow sip, eyes rolling over the tops of the bright leaves around them. "There is a fortified bandit camp not far from where we were ambushed. Cragslone Cave or something like that," he corked the pouch and stood. "We leave soon. There is a Dragon Wall nearby."_

_She watched him for a moment. "A Dragon Wall?"_

_"Dragons adore gems and other shiny things. There are several posts around Skyrim with perches made of pure marble. Beautiful in sight but they serve their purpose in marking territories. There is a camp there. We can resupply and send word to Alduin of the incident. Then we recruit in Riften, continue to Bromunjaar."_

_"W-Wait," she stumbled to her feet. "Why not just wait for more escorts at the Wall or take some of their men? Surely they can spare a few."_

_"No, they need the men here in this hold. They do not have many, a few scouts. The dragon is their greatest defense and possibly their only soldier. Riften is not far, we will be fine," he flinched. "Do you have the ring?"_

_She furrowed her brow for a moment then her lips popped. "Yes. . .yes I have the ring," she reached into the pocket of her gown and held it in her shaking palm._

_He nodded once, worrying his around his finger for a moment. "Then let's move, I want to reach the wall before sundown and we're cutting it close leaving now. We should have moved earlier."_

_They began to walk and Lorolei craned her neck to look at the sun; it was close to noon. Had she really been up all night? She ached and the cuts on her feet stung - she needed clothes. She was still wearing a slip and it was no protection in the Rift, not with the heavy wind and nippy air._

_"We will possibly pass through Shor's Stone in our journey," Miraak hummed. "You can get clothes there."_

_Had he read her mind? She shook her head and kept her head down, praying this would be over soon. She didn't want to walk, she didn't want to go to this wall - though the mention of its beauty peaked her interest. She just wanted to rest, fill her belly. . .and go home._


	6. Chapter 6

_**I hate these lulls between updates. But I thank those of you still sticking with me and support this story. Remember to let me know if I need to change things or if I get facts wrong, I honedsty do not have a very good memory.**_

_****there is a part in here that says "oh no big fella" and doesn't have a quotation around it - that is where the part ends and I just don't have time to fix it right now. Sorry!**_

* * *

She was still teetering on the edge of a nervous breakdown when Marcus approached her in the dining hall. Guests laughed, maids cleaned and Olaf One Eye prattled and boomed about his latest victory in the East. It seemed everyone was having a good time but her, she was usually the life of the party. She loved to boast and gloat, show off that greatsword of hers. But she wasn't all the way there at the moment, though no one but Marcus noticed and it took him a moment.

"M'lady," he whispered for possibly the tenth time. "Konahrik," he tried again; when she proved despondent, he subtly nudged her towards the lower halls, keepinf an eye on the Priests that were looking for the slightest opportunity to...

A firm hand clamped down on his on her forearm. "I'm fine," she pursed her lips at the threat of a shaky breath. "Just trying to process my orders..."

Marcus furrowed his brow but did not question her; what happened between her and their dragon lord was their business. "M'lady, we are having breaches all over the palace..."

"Walk with me," she muttered. "Talk with me..."

He did as she commanded, his robes shifting softly as they wound their way deeper and deeper. "Wisps in the burial halls, a troll burst through the slave quarters last night - its like the land is fighting us."

"Why not just kill the troll..."

"It is the third to arrive since slaughtering the first. They appear too soon to have the wall properly reinforced and patched."

Konahrik shook her head. "I will oversee the project tomorrow, until then I want three guards at all times and a hound or two. Remember they are weak against fire so someone should know a spell or two."

"Yes ma'am - and the wisps?"

"I can handle that right now - get me Nahkriin now."

Marcus stopped her as they entered the threshold of the burial chambers - there were two wisps hissing about already, her fingers twitched in anticipation - and she noticed the sweat on his brow. Nervous? Marcus never got nervous...He swallowed and adjusted the collar of his robes, looking into her eyes; this felt far too personal for her.

"Madam," okay, it got weirder. "Something does not feel right in the palace...since the Priests' arrival I have felt...uneasy. As if the energy has shifted. I have fears."

"Of what, Marcus?"

He shook his head. "Just fears, ones I do not fully understand. Is this banquet necessary right now?"

Konahrik was taken aback. "Yes, Marcus - it is my coronation. I get my mask at last. I will officially become the War Lord," she shook her head. "What has really brought this on? You are acting strange."

He waved a hand. "Not important."

Ah, so he would tell her later. A plus. Konahrik breath in deeply and unsheathed her daedric dagger, chuckling at the blatant discomfort all over Marcus' face. She was the only one to carry daedric weapons, and openly at that. Konahrik prided herself on her weapon collection and her daggers were one of her favorites; thinking about her stockpile and holding a familiar weapon in her hand made Konahrik feel more like herself again.

"Come now,et's get rid of these wisps - and send a guard for Nakhriin."

Marcus gave her an interesting look. "Yes ma'am."

He would have to stop that, he was making her feel old.

* * *

She was tired.

Between her report to Lord Alduin, dealing with Marcus and the persistent wisps that continued to plague their burial rooms...Konahrik wanted to just be alone and rest.

But there was a very irritating parisite lying on her bed.

His eyes bore into her back as she tugged off her gauntlets and boots, setting them atop a large wooden table in the corner of her bedroom. When she reached the clasps on her sides for her chest plate, other fingers clocked her path.

"You still wear this armor," he murmurs into her hair.

She is indifferent. As always. "Of course," she shrugged the chest piece off, the three horns covering her throat - shielding it - knicking her chin. "It is the finest armor to be conceived," she placed it beside her boots. "And it has sentimental value..."

He smiled and brushed a hand through her hair, but she pulled away, soft feet padding towards her wash sink; an actual bath would have to wait. She washed her face slowly and thoroughly, all the while Miraak watched her, moving to sit back on her bed but on the edge this time. She plucked up a thick sheet of cloth to wipe her face, pausing when she saw him.

"You are still here," she murmured, setting the cloth down.

"But of course," he smirked.

She rolled her eyes and slowly approached him, taking his hands in hers as she stood in front of him, wiggling between his legs. Since the day they met, Konahrik had felt something for this man - a God in his own right. Her past, Lorolei, did not deny this feeling either and even as this overlord, she felt like a teenager. A silly, infatuated teenager. In love with the bad boy.

"Where were you all evening," she murmured, perching herself in his lap. "You were supposed to be at the shrine but when I checked, you were gone."

He bobbed his head once. "I apologize, I wandered off and ended up with Paarturnax," she almost cringed at his informal titling. "He has been acting rather odd lately...though I did not bring that up."

Konahrik raised an eyebrow, keeping silent. She had not noticed a changed in his demeanor and she spent nearly every waking minute in his presence; he was still that evil scaley bastard she had met long ago.

"I am to report to him as well," Konahrik sighed. "I fear he will be the death of me..."

"Lord Alduin would never allow it."

Konahrik nodded. "I know...I know..."

Did she really? She felt as though something was going on around here, but she couldn't put her finger on what was wrong. Maybe it was just the rare presence of her paranoid and eccentric Priests that was throwing her off.

Or maybe it was his hand trying worm its way up her blouse. Konahrik sighed and stood, a barely noticable smirk making her lips twitch. She pointed to the door and he almost deflated.

"Lee please..."

"Oh no big fella

* * *

_Lorolei had never been scared of men._

_She did not fear the strength they posessed over her or their craving for violence, their undeserving self entitlement to take what they wanted from women. _

_She had always grown around those who did not look down on another because of their sex, that because they didn't have the 'right packaging' between their legs meant they were inferior. Everyone had equal potential and worked in tandem._

_Then she arrived at the Northwind Summit waypoint, and she had never been more terrified._

_Men oggled her sparse clothing as Miraak left her in a small shack with no doors, near the edge of camp; he was haggling with the Quartermaster to refit a set of...Dragonscale Armor. Refit it for her. She could not express her joy, or her fear. Was it right to make armor out of their masters? How did they feel about having their hide brushing against the flesh of their servants?_

_Lorolei would never question the logic._

_As she wrapped Miraak's robes tighter to her body (he was waltzing around in a dark green tunic and trousers; to say Lorolei was embarrassed was an understatment), to try and hide herself further from whispering guards, she heard the soft shifting of sandals over gravel and looked up. Miraak was there, tying back his hair and sighing heavily._

_"We will be here another night...your armor will be ready by tomorrow afternoon."_

_Lorolei stood, clenching the seem of his robes tighter around her chest, and bowed; her hair spilled over her right shoulder. "I thank you, m'lord."_

_"Miraak, darling, call me Miraak," he looked around the small cabin, eyeing the one bed. "It seems we are sharing a bed for the night."_

_Cue cheeks flaring up like dragon fire. "Wh - What?!"_

_He chuckled. "We have the only bed in camp."_

_"But we're not married!"_

_"We are not mating," he lay back, arms crossed over his head. "Calm down."_

_But she couldn't. She thought she was about to faint. No, no she couldn't share a bed with him. She may have been a warrior, a hunter and almost a princess but to share a bed with a stranger - a man - that pushed it just a little closer to the edge. She trusted him enough not to harm her but tradition - and common decency - dictated a man and a woman were to not share a bed until marriage._

_When a hand gripped her shoulder, she snapped out of her reverie...by punching Miraak in his split cheek._

_"Oh my - I am so, so, so sorry," she shook her head fiercely, crouching in front of him where he had plunked back down on the edge of the bed. "I cannot apologize enough!"_

_He was shaking his head and rubbing around the now flushed wound...but he was laughing. Lowly, softly, but definitely laughing. Lorolei blinked, slowly, and her hands shivered around his elbows. How...how could he be laughing at this. He looked up and locked eyes with her, something flickering in his, and he smiled._

_"Lord Alduin was right in picking you."_


	7. Chapter 7

**Yeah, yeah I know its been awhile but I've actually been having some very serious technical difficulties. But I'm working on a new chapter right now. In the mean time, I will be editing previous chapters so once I post the newest chapter, I suggest you reread the previous chapters. No big changes but there will be noticeable ones.**

**Thank you all for sticking with me, its very much appreciated you just have no idea.**


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